Wrung out turning begging to begin

The dark pours into me
Peace that’s lost
Floods in
Making itself at home
Tired heart crying
Eyes untouched
Little lost peace holding my hand in the darkness
A kiss on the forehead and gone
Off to whatever stranger shores
Calls them home

And I a waystation
A place to rest weary
In tired lines
Bent past breaking
But unbowed
And unbroken
Reaching

Hand outstretched
Fingers pull wide
To the point of tearing
Small tricks
Split out wide
Trembling

Say thoughts out loud
Madness or a dream
Wake my turtle dove
We are not as we seem
Follow the raven
Home

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